


The Detective, The Writer, His Ex, and Their Darling Daughter

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [15]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Hank and Stella spend a weekend in Connecticut...at Karen's house





	

July was probably the worst time to come to New York, but it fit into both of their schedules.  Heat, humidity, summer tourists.  All things both Stella and Hank would have rather avoided.  They landed at JFK at 8pm EST and waited in the sweltering taxi stand for over half an hour amongst throngs of tired and impatient travelers for a ride into the city.  All Stella wanted by the time they arrived at Hank’s loft, was a cool shower and a soft bed.

 

Stella knew that Hank was tired as well by the simple fact that he made no attempt to invade her shower.  She left her hair wet, knowing it would be wild and untamed in the morning, but all she’d wanted was to get the stink of jet fuel and sweat off of her before she headed to bed.  Hank had already crashed, sprawled on the bed in his underwear with the sheets kicked away.  She slipped on a pair of panties and a loose, cropped camisole and joined him, falling quickly asleep to the metronomic click of the ceiling fan.

 

She woke early, her body’s natural alarm clock pulling her from sleep at 4am.  She waited just long enough for the predawn light to begin to bleed in through the blinds to get up.  Moving quietly, so not to wake Hank, she slipped on her silk robe, tied her wild hair back in an elastic, and went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.  From across the room, through the door she’d left open, she watched him turn over onto his back.  One arm flopped to the bed and his fingers groped at the empty space beside him while he draped his other arm across his head, blocking his eyes.

 

Stella left the coffee, which had only just begun to percolate, and went back to the bedroom.  She crawled up onto the bed and straddled Hank’s hips, resting her weight fully on his upper thighs and setting her hands gently on his beautiful bare chest.  He grunted softly as she slowly rubbed herself against him, encouraging him to rise and greet the day.

 

She rocked slowly, but deliberately, using his chest as leverage to lift up every so often, tip her hips, and slide back down against him.  His arm fell back over his head and he gazed up at her with drowsy eyes and a sleepy smile.  She licked her lips for him and he flexed the muscles in his backside to offer up a little more pressure for her, but otherwise just watched as she slowly used him to build herself up.

 

For awhile, he turned his gaze to the sway of her breasts under her camisole and then he looked a little further south.  Stella all but stopped moving, giving him a view that would be later worth the slow burn when she let him fuck her.  Her panties were already soaked with arousal and his grey boxer-briefs were spotted with her wetness.  She could feel it, but she could see it without even looking away from his face.

 

Stella dragged her crotch up over each and every ridge and inch of Hank’s erection and then back down into the cushion of his balls.  She could see the sweat forming at his temples and his hips began to give restrained little jerks beneath her.  She walked her hands up to his shoulders to lean against him at more of an angle, looking for that sweet spot where the drag and pull of her hips against him would soon have her pulsing.  

 

It wasn’t hard for her to find.  She knew her body well and knew the exact pressure and rhythm to give herself.  She breathed roughly through her nose, her face inches above his.  He squinted and grit his teeth when she paused to swivel her hips.  She bent closer as though she was going to kiss him, but just let her erect nipples graze his chest through the thin camisole and his thigh muscles flexed against hers.  She pushed up and walked her hands back down his chest to sit up.

 

She was hovering on the edge of a pleasure cliff, inching closer, retreating a little with every pause and then pushing herself forward to peer over the side.  With her hands firmly on his chest again, she circled her hips counterclockwise, slow and narrow at first, then faster and broader.  She was at the brink and gave herself the little push she needed by arching her back and grinding her hips down at the same time.  Her lashes fluttered as her eyes rolled back and a shiver ran through her body.

 

Without giving her any time to recover, Hank put one hand on Stella’s thigh to keep her steady and lifted his hips up under her.  He reached down and pulled his underwear off and then pulled hers to the side and held her hip in place.  He slipped inside of her with ease and she came down onto his thighs again so that he was buried to the hilt.  He anchored both hands to her hips under her silk robe and he swept his thumbs over the bare skin of her abdomen.

 

Her eyes told him she wanted him to take control.  He had cataloged the many different expressions she had for how she wanted it and this one, the slightly open mouth, narrowed eyes, and relaxed brow screamed ‘take me now and do what you want.’  So he did.  He kept his thrusts even, but deep, making her gasp, over and over.  With nothing else to grab onto, she gripped his forearms and he continued to hold her hips steady, putting red thumbprints into her pale skin.  The coffeemaker beeped just as Hank groaned and the muscles in his neck strained with a final thrust.  Not quite there herself, Stella let go of one of Hank’s arms to touch herself, but he got there first, fingers working quickly and skillfully until she was writhing above him.

 

They didn’t move until their breathing had returned to normal and then Stella lowered herself down to lay on Hank’s chest.  Both were slick with sweat and heat and her robe stuck to her in patches.  He tickled the back of her thighs with his fingers and then grabbed both cheeks of her ass, kneading her tight skin.

 

“Mornin’, Sherlock,” he said.

 

“Good morning, Watson,” she murmured back.

 

They were due to take the 10:34 train from Grand Central, which would put them in Old Greenwich just before noon.  Karen would meet them at the station and drive them out to the house where they would stay, overnight.  Hank had never been to her Connecticut house, but he had met her lover of the last two years, Fisher Everleigh, who insisted on everyone calling him Fish.  Privately, Hank referred to him as The Trout, but he liked the guy.

 

Stella occupied her mind with last minute work that by no means was pressing, but she made one promise to Hank for the weekend and that was to leave the laptop at home and relax.  It wouldn’t be easy for her to do, she was already nervous about finally meeting Karen and Becca.  She could interrogate a hostile suspect for hours without batting an eyelash, but the thought of spending a weekend with the family of the man she loved was just a little bit terrifying.  A lot depended on the weekend going well - maybe not so much for her, but for Hank.  Because she knew if either Karen or Becca did not approve of her, she was almost certain that he would take that seriously enough to walk away.  For perhaps one of the first times in her life, she very much wanted to make a good impression and that was difficult for her to do.

 

The train ride seemed to go by too fast.  When the overhead announced Old Greenwich as the next stop, Hank unfolded himself from their seat and grabbed the single overnight bag that held both their things.  She plucked nervously at the sash of her wrap-around dress, suddenly wondering if she’d made the right choice.  Not about the navy dress or the wedge heels or the jasmine perfume, but was coming here the right thing to do?

 

As the train slowed and pulled into the station, Hank slid his arm around Stella’s waist and pulled her against him as he leaned down and kissed her.  She unconsciously squeezed his black t-shirt where her hand rested on his back and he pulled his head up to look at her.  She looked away so he wouldn’t catch the trepidation in her eyes and slipped her sunglasses on.  The doors of the train opened and she stepped out onto the platform, Hank at her side and his hand resting possessively on the curve of her hip.

 

“Hank!”

 

Both Hank and Stella turned at the sound of his name being called.  On the parking lot side of the platform, just over the rail, Karen stood inside the driver’s side door of a silver Mercedes SUV, waving her arm.

 

Tall, is the first thing Stella thought when she saw Karen.  She’d seen photos, of course, and even spoken with her on the phone, but pictures and abbreviated conversations didn’t really adequately describe who Karen was.  Tall, slim, regal neck, casually elegant in a peasant skirt, wide leather belt low on her hips, bangle bracelets.  The smile on her face seemed to imply she was the kind of person that wore joy like a second skin.

 

Hank hoisted the overnight bag up higher on his shoulder as they approached the car.  He gave Karen a one-armed embrace, keeping Stella at his side.  Karen hugged Hank with both arms around his neck and gave him a peck on the lips before she turned her attention to Stella.

 

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, pulling her away from Hank’s side and into a tight squeeze.

 

The embrace startled Stella.  By the time she figured out what to do with her hands, Karen had let her go, but slipped an arm around her shoulders as she turned to Hank.

 

“Ready to go to the house?” she asked.  “Or did you want to look around town for a bit?”

 

“House,” Hank answered.  “Sweating my balls off out here.”

 

“Descriptive, as always,” Karen said.  She squeezed Stella’s shoulder affectionately and then let her go to turn towards the car.  With the click of a button on a remote on her keyring, she opened the back hatch for the overnight bag.

 

“Where’s The Becca?” Hank asked.

 

“Ah, our darling daughter,” she answered, shutting the hatch.  “There’s been a change of plan.”

 

“She’s not coming?”  The immediate disappointment in Hank’s voice gave Stella a guilty pang.  If Becca wasn’t coming...

 

“No, she’s coming,” Karen replied.  “She was just supposed to be here last night, but something ‘came up.’  She’ll be here later this afternoon.”

 

Hank ran his hand down Stella’s back.  She breathed a soft sigh of relief and touched a backward hand to his chest.  It occurred to her she hadn’t said a word since before they got off the train, but she wasn’t sure what to say.

 

“Well, come on,” Karen said.  

 

Stella was ushered into the front passenger seat, but Hank and Karen managed all the conversation on the short drive to the house.  She recognized the names of people she’d never met that passed between them.  Their conversation was a relief for her.  

 

They pulled up to a Cape Cod style house, all peaks and points, blue-grey paint and dark shingles.  The lawn was so green it looked unnatural.

 

“The Trout home?” Hank asked.

 

Karen rolled her eyes as she shut off the engine.  “Fish had a class today,” she said.  “He’ll be home soon.”

 

The overnight bag was retrieved from the back and Karen led them through the house on a tour of the first floor.  It was a standard house, a little too large and open for Stella’s tastes, but beautiful, full of artwork and light.  French doors opened up to a patio and a pool.  On the other side of a pool was a scale model of the house.

 

“Here’s where you’ll be,” Karen said, opening the doors to the miniature house.  “I haven’t really gone through it since Marcy was here in May, so if you find anything weird, I’m sorry.  Don’t worry, I changed the sheets.”

 

Hank laughed.

 

“Come,” Karen took Stella’s hand.  “You like red wine?”

 

“I do,” Stella said.

 

“Perfect.  Hank, you can find a way to amuse yourself, I’m sure.”

 

Stella was soon to learn what a tactile and physical person Karen was.  She held hands, she touched arms, she brushed hair, she sat too close on the couch.  It was unnerving at first, but it soon became comforting.  The wine, of course, helped with that.

 

“Tell me about yourself,” Karen said.  “I mean, I’ve heard everything from Hank, but you know how he embellishes.”

 

“What has he said?” Stella asked.

 

“Well, according to him, you’re James Bond in high heels and a pencil skirt.”

 

Stella smiled with amusement into her wine glass.  “Nothing that exciting.  Just a detective with a bit of authority.”

 

“I knew you had to be something pretty amazing though when he first told me about you.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“It isn't exactly a secret that Hank’s been on the wrong side of the law a few times.   He was never really a fan of authority.”

 

“He can be quite...obstinate.”

 

Karen laughed and rolled her eyes a little as she took a sip of her wine, nodding in agreement.  “I’m glad someone agrees,” she said.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

 

Karen laid her cheek against her arm that was stretched out along the back of the couch and smiled.  “I’m glad,” she said, her gaze soft and pure.  Any other time, any other place, Stella probably would’ve kissed her for looking so sweet.  Her eyes dropped to Karen’s mouth and then she looked away and sipped her wine.  She was practicing impulse control these days.

 

It should feel more awkward than it did, Stella thought.  After all, the only thing she and Karen had in common was a man they had both fucked.  But, Hank was also a man they both cared about, and it bonded them as well.

 

Hank came through the patio doors wearing board shorts and flip flops.  “Where’s the bar?” he asked, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

 

“Cabinet over the dishwasher,” Karen answered.  “Glasses next door.”

 

After pouring himself a scotch, Hank came over and squeezed onto the couch behind Stella.  He kissed her shoulder and rested his glass on her thigh.

 

“You ladies done listing all the reasons I’m a giant asshole yet?” he asked.

 

“That would take all weekend,” Karen answered.

 

Hank lifted his arm up over Stella’s and dipped two fingers into his drink, which he then flicked in Karen’s direction.  She unfolded her leg and kicked at him, but he caught her big toe and gave it a twist.  She laughed and yanked her foot back.  It was more friendly than flirty, but Stella felt herself dropping a possessive hand to Hank’s thigh anyway.  He nuzzled her neck and moved his arm across her waist, though all he could do was brush her abdomen with the backs of his hands since he had to hold his glass.

 

“Wanna swim?” he asked.

 

“Hank said you were a swimmer,” Karen added.

 

“For exercise,” Stella said.  “Laps in the mornings.”

 

A phone rang somewhere and Karen got up from the couch to grab it.  Hank played with the sash of Stella’s dress like he was going to tug it open and she brushed his hand away.  Undeterred, he slid his hand up her thigh.

 

“Quick, before she gets back,” he said.

 

“Stop,” she whispered.

 

“Later?”

 

“We’re in your ex’s house.”

 

“I know, isn’t it hot?”

 

“Stop,” she said again, this time with a bit of a breathless chuckle as Hank tickled her ear with his breath.

 

Karen came back into the room with a panicked expression.  “I hate to do this, but I need to walk a client through some design changes or this deal will fall apart.  Twenty minutes, tops, but I need to run upstairs to the office and call this guy.”

 

“Twenty minutes is cool,” Hank said.  “It gives us enough time to get freaky on this lovely couch of yours and go for a swim.”

 

Heat immediately rose to Stella’s cheeks, but Karen merely rolled her eyes.

 

“That’s why we have a guest house,” Karen said.  “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

 

Hank jumped up from the couch as soon as Karen ran upstairs and then downed his scotch.  “Pool,” he said.

 

“I can’t believe you just-”  Stella’s embarrassed rant was cut short by Hank’s mouth descending on hers as she got to her feet.  His whiskey soaked tongue swept past her lips and he snaked one arm across her hips and buried his other hand in her hair.  She moaned in spite of the annoyance she felt and he moved his hand down to squeeze her ass.

 

“Pool,” he murmured against her lips.

 

He let her go and backed away from her with a sly smile and dropped his sunglasses back to where they belonged, obscuring his eyes.  She was flush with heat and anger and arousal and she downed the rest of his wine as he walked out the door before she followed him.  He was already wading into the shallow end of the pool, dragging an inflated raft behind him as she breezed past into the guesthouse.  Maybe the cool water would do her some good.

 

She searched their bag for her swimsuit, and while she found a swimsuit, it was not the one she packed.  She shook her head as she undressed and then joined Hank at the pool.  He was sunbathing on the raft, floating peacefully until she dipped her foot into the water and kicked it at him.  He jumped, sloshing even more water up onto his raft as he struggled for balance, but he grinned up at her and whistled.

 

“Lookin’ good, Sherlock,” he said.

 

“Any idea how this got into our bag?” she asked.

 

“Must’ve been a gift from the bikini fairies.”

 

“I see.”  She eased herself down the steps into the shallow end, taking her time to adjust to the cool water.

 

“It’s certainly better than the pair of panties you make me wear at the pool.”

 

“So this is Speedo revenge?”

 

“I can’t really call it revenge when the view is so amazing.  More like a gift, to myself, and to the world, really.”  

 

She shivered a little and reached up to make sure the band in her hair was secure.  Hank slipped off of his raft and paddled closer to her.  She was waist deep in the water by that point and he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him until her toes could no longer touch the bottom.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.  He could still touch the bottom, but he lifted his legs and stroked with his arms to keep them afloat.

 

“Relax,” he whispered as her arms tightened around him.  “I’ve got you.”

 

“I’m not worried.”

 

He put his feet back on the bottom and his hands glided over her bare back to her tailbone.  She tightened her thighs against his hips and he stretched his neck to kiss her as he dipped one hand inside the front of her swimsuit.  She bit his bottom lip and he chuckled as he tried to pull free from her teeth.

 

“Police brutality,” he said.

 

“Resisting arrest,” she countered.

 

“What’re the charges?”  His brows rose up behind his sunglasses as his fingers danced through her folds.

 

“Unlawful entry.”

 

He chuckled and pulled his hand out of her swimsuit.  He stroked his arms and walked backwards until his back was against the side wall of the pool and then he pushed his sunglasses back onto his head and pulled hers up as well.  

 

“Blue really is your color,” he said, hooking the left strap of her top over his finger and sliding up and down from her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.  “Brings out your eyes when you look like you want to kill me.”

 

“Not kill,” she answered.  “Maim, a little.”

 

“I’m flattered that you would keep me alive.”

 

“Purely selfish.”  She reached down between them and cupped the front of his shorts.  “I would miss this too much.”

 

He groaned and tipped his head back on the lip of the pool.  “God, I’m so fucking glad I’m not wearing pool panties right now.”

 

Stella chuckled and kissed his chin.  She moved her hand inside his shorts and he groaned again.

 

“Woah, all hands on deck sailor,” he said.

 

“Why?”

 

“I think fucking in a pool is supposed to be bad for the vagina.  And I’m a big fan of your vagina.  I love it too much to put it through any suffering.”

 

“Who said anything about fucking in the pool?”

 

“So what are you doing?”

 

“One would think you’d know what a hand job is by now.”

 

“It did seem a little low for a handshake.”

 

Stella covered his mouth with hers to get him to stop talking.  Sometimes he just talked too damn much.  He was slower to respond than usual, but it probably had more to do with the cold water than her.  She worked him vigorously, staring into his half-closed eyes the whole time.

 

“You sure about not trying to kill me?” he panted.

 

“I wouldn’t let you die before we got to test out that guest house.”

 

“God, Stella.”

 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Karen called, stepping out onto the patio.

 

Stella jumped and straightened her back, her hand still tightly gripping Hank’s penis.  Hank groaned and tipped his head back even farther.  

 

“Great, fucking timing, Karen!”

 

“Thought you’d appreciate knowing that our darling daughter is in a taxi and will be here in five minutes.”

 

“Fantastic,” Hank said.

 

“I’ll keep her inside while you...finish.”

 

“Be out in a minute.”

 

The doors closed behind Karen and Stella put her face against Hank’s shoulder.  She unwrapped her hand from around his shriveling erection and eased out of his shorts.  He drew a line down her back with the tip of his finger and kissed her ear.

 

“To be continued,” he said.

 

They got out of the pool and headed back to the guest house to dry off and change.  Stella felt a little subdued.  They lived in a little anti-social bubble in London and she wasn’t quite sure she fit into the world Hank had left behind for her; a world where staying in your ex’s guest house was normal and getting caught fucking in their pool was shrugged off as though it was expected.  It’s not as if Stella was a prude or uncomfortable with her sexuality, but what happened within the privacy of her house, or even beyond the door of a hotel room, was one thing.  She didn’t want Karen to think her disrespectful.

 

Stella left her hair up and put her dress back on.  Her neck was still a little damp and her hair curled at her nape.  Hank, back in his jeans and black t-shirt, crept up behind her and moved his hands over her hips.  She hadn’t put her shoes back on yet so he towered over her.

 

“Stop thinking so much,” he said.

 

“I wasn’t thinking at all,” she answered.

 

“You’re always thinking.”

 

“Sorry if it offends you.”

 

Hank turned her around and held her shoulders as he bent low to kiss her cheek.  He moved even lower, kissing her chest and her belly and her hip and her thigh, until he was kneeling and kissed the side of her knee.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 

“Worshipping at the altar of Stella,” he answered, bending even further to kiss the top of her foot.

 

“Get up.”

 

He kissed his way back up her body from her shin to her groin to her breast to her neck.  She sighed and butted her forehead against his chest.

 

“It’s important to me,” she said.

 

“I appreciate that, but it’s me that needs to worry here, not you.  I’m the fuck up.  It’s me that needs to make the impression, not you.  Though, it helps my image immensely that you’re intelligent, kind, and reasonably sane.”

 

Stella lifted her head to look up at him.

 

“It means a lot to me that you’re here,” he said.  “The only thing you need to do is be yourself.”

 

“And who will you be?”

 

“Ah.”  He tossed his head back with his mouth open, but didn’t laugh.  Instead, he took a deep breath and then rubbed her hips.  “Finish getting ready.  I smell like chlorine.”

 

A few minutes later, Hank was taking her hand and she breathed in his aftershave as she stepped close and linked her fingers in his.  They crossed to the patio and Hank opened the door.  The most surprising thing to Stella, when she saw Becca, was how tiny the girl was.

 

“Becca,” Hank said, letting go of Stella’s hand to wrap his arms around his daughter.

 

“Father,” she said, passively allowing him to kiss her head and squeeze her tightly.  Karen sat on the arm of the couch on the other side of her, petting Becca’s hair.  The young girl accepted the affection, but didn’t reciprocate it.  Both arms were at her sides almost robotically.

 

“Daughter.”  Hank inhaled deeply against Becca’s head with his eyes closed.  He kissed her hair once more and then let her go.

 

“Hello,” Becca said, staring at Stella, her mouth a straight line of unreadable emotion.

 

“Becca, this is Stella,” Hank said.  “Stella, may I present our darling daughter.”

 

“Lovely to meet you,” Stella said.  She hesitated a moment, but put out her hand which Becca took mechanically.

 

Stella mentally assessed Becca’s demeanor with the eye of an investigator.  A wave of empathy washed over her as she watched Hank and Karen fawn over the girl.  She could tell by Becca’s posture and the flare of her nostrils that she was masking her discomfort and she did not trust these people.  She wanted to, but she didn’t.  And she did not like to be touched.  Stella knew the feeling.

 

“Is Fish here?” Becca asked.

 

“He should be back soon,” Karen said.

 

“I have an announcement to make,” Becca said.  “But, I don’t want to do it twice.  I’m going to put my bag upstairs.  Let me know when he gets here.”

 

“I already told you, if you’re a lesbian, you have my full support,” Hank called after her as she turned to leave.

 

Karen punched Hank in the shoulder.

 

“Ow!” he said.

 

“Becca isn’t a lesbian,” Karen said.

 

“Well, she should be.  Men are horrible.”

 

“So are women,” Stella murmured.  “You’ll never protect her from that kind of pain.”

 

“ _Thank_ you,” Karen said.

 

Hank rubbed his shoulder and pouted.

 

Karen poured more wine and Hank got himself another scotch.  They stood around the kitchen island eating cheese and crackers.  When Fish came in, Stella was surprised by his energy.  Hank had previously described him as a ‘down to Earth trust fund baby.’  Boston born and bred with a silver spoon in his mouth, drafted into his father’s architecture firm after Harvard, retired at 40 and moved to Connecticut.  He met Karen when she decorated his new house, which they now lived in together.

 

Fish looked more like he belonged in Berkeley than Boston.  He had on a pair of cargo shorts and Birkenstocks.  His t-shirt was well worn with a few holes in it.  He was tall and stocky, with shaggy blonde hair and sunburned cheeks.  He carried four guitars with him and still managed to wave at the group enthusiastically.

 

“Moody,” he called.  “How the hell are ya?”

 

“Good, Fish.  You?”

 

He set his guitars down against the back of the couch like he was laying down sleeping infants.  “Kids were frickin’ wicked today.  Karebear tell you about the concert comin’ up?”

 

“I didn’t,” Karen said.

 

“Teachin’ guitar down at the rec center to eight year olds.  Gotta girl could be the next Joni Mitchell.  They’re playin’ the summer festival next month.”  He smiled proudly and slapped Hank on the shoulder.  “Forgive my manners, we shouldda been introduced properly.  You must be Stella.”

 

“I suppose you’d be Fish,” she said.

 

Fish clasped her hand warmly and then let her go and moved on to kiss Karen hello.  “Becca not here?” he asked.  

 

“Upstairs,” Karen answered.  “She has some sort of announcement.”

 

“Sounds exciting.”

 

“I’ll go get her.”  Karen slipped away and headed upstairs.

 

Fish clapped his hands once and then rubbed them together.  “We got surf ‘n turf on the menu tonight,” he said.  “Picked up the lobsters this mornin’ from a guy catches ‘em up in Mystic.  Filet mignon marinating in the fridge.  You don’t do the food with a face thing like The Becca, got lots of veggies to grill as well.”

 

“Always up for a good steak,” Stella said.

 

“Hank, she’s a keeper.”  Fish clapped his hands again just as Karen came back downstairs with Becca.  “Beckster,” he said.  “Give us the news.”

 

“My book is being published,” she said without preamble.

 

Hank choked on his scotch and Karen gasped.  Mother and father were on her in an instant, smothering her with congratulations as she held her head up like above their crushing embraces to breathe.

 

“And you don’t have to worry,” Becca said.  “It’s not about my fucked up childhood or anything.”

 

“Your childhood wasn’t fucked up,” Hank answered.  “Adolescence and teens, yes.  But, not your childhood.”

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Karen said.

 

“Thanks,” Becca said.

 

“We need a toast,” Fish said, opening up the liquor cabinet.

 

Karen and Hank finally let Becca go and she stepped up next to Stella at the island while Fish refreshed glasses.

 

“Congratulations,” Stella said, quietly.

 

Becca glanced at her and the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.  “Thanks,” she answered.

 

“To Becca!” Fish said, raising his glass.

 

“To Becca,” they echoed.

 

Dinner was held on the patio later that evening.  Fish was an impressive cook and kicked everyone out of the kitchen so as not to reveal his secrets.  They could hear him singing to himself through the open door as he prepped and then later as he grilled behind them.  He was also a confident leader of conversation, asking interesting, yet non-threatening questions of everyone to keep them all engaged.  He also enjoyed riddles, and he quickly became determined to stump Stella from solving his complicated little problems.

 

“What belongs to you, but others use it more?” he asked.

 

“My name,” Stella answered, cutting into her steak.

 

“Damn,” Fish said.  “What flies without wings?”

 

“Time.”

 

“Tuesday, Carol and Alice went out to eat.  They paid the bill and left.  Carol and Alice didn’t lay out any money.  Who did?”

 

“Probably some asshole at the bar who thought they were cheap hookers,” Hank answered.

 

“Tuesday,” Stella said.

 

“I don’t usually tell this one in mixed company,” Fish said.  “But, I feel so inclined.  I go in hard, I come out soft.  You can blow me if you want to.”

 

“Sounds like a personal attack, Fish,” Hank said.

 

“Hm, I take it the answer isn’t Hank.”  Stella sliced her steak as she contemplated.

 

“Sure sounds accurate,” Karen added.

 

Hank smirked and tossed back a drink.

 

“Give up?” Fish asked.

 

Her mind worked the problem quickly, focusing on blowing.  Things to blow.  Kisses.  Bubbles.  Instruments.  Hard.  Soft.  Wind?  Could be a flute.  In hard.  Out soft.  Blow.  Blowing.  What do you blow, what do you blow?

 

“Gum,” she finally said.

 

“God damn, you’re a right wicked pissa!” Fish exclaimed, slapping his hand on his leg.  “How’d you end up with that chowderhead over there?”

 

Hank rubbed Stella’s knee and leaned over to nuzzle her neck.  “Show off,” he whispered in her ear.

 

“Chowderhead,” she whispered back.  He chuckled and touched his mouth to the back of her neck where it met her shoulder.

 

The sun dipped lower and lower as dinner went on until twilight set in and crickets and fireflies came out.  It got cooler and Fish lit a fire in a pit down by the pool.  Stella tried to help clear the dinner, but Karen shooed her away and made Hank take her down to the fire.  He pulled her down into one of the deck chairs that surrounded the pit and she lay back between his legs and rested against his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.

 

“I think I’m still on London time,” she murmured, closing her eyes and rubbing her cheek against his arm.

 

“You want to go in to bed?” he asked.

 

“No.  I’d like to stay right where I am.”

 

“Mmkay.”

Stella drifted into semi-consciousness, aware of the crack and hiss of the fire, but not much else.  Her limbs grew heavy and her breathing grew deep.  She had no concept of time, but she became aware of soft voices and felt something soft sliding over her body.  A blanket.

 

“Thanks,” Hank said.

 

The chair beside them creaked.

 

“It's good to see you so happy,” Karen said.

 

“I am.”

 

“I know.  And you're...less of a man-child.  More like a real grown up.”

 

“I'm sure I could prove you wrong there.”

 

“I did say _less_ of a man-child.  I don't think you'll ever fully mature, if you haven't by now.”

 

“Destined to forever be a sour grape?”

 

“You're an acquired taste.”

 

Silence followed, broken on occasion by the pop of splitting wood.

 

“Have you read Becca's book?” Hank asked.

 

“I didn't even know she was writing a book,” Karen answered, her voice laced with sadness.  “I mean, I knew she was working towards it, just didn't know she had actually done it.”

 

“Do you think she'd let me read it if I asked.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

“Didn't think so.”

 

“You could ask anyway.”

 

“I love that girl so fucking much, Karen.  So much it's painful.”

 

“I know.”

 

Silence again, this time punctuated by the creaking of the deck chair as Hank shifted and ran his hand through Stella's hair.

 

“Don't fuck this up,” Karen said.  

 

“Fuck-up is my middle name,” he answered.

 

“I know, but don't fuck it up anyway.”

 

“Trying not to.”

 

“You deserve to be happy.”

 

“Do I?”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Even if everything I touch turns to shit?”

 

“Don't take things I said in the heat of an argument so seriously.”

 

“You were just being honest.”

 

“Hank...we have a daughter upstairs who is you all over again.  The you before things fell apart.  So don't go thinking the worst of yourself because she'll end up thinking the worst of herself.  I don't want that.”

 

It was quiet again for a few moments.

 

“I don't want it either,” Hank said.

 

Karen sighed.

 

“Are you sure she can't be a lesbian?  I'd feel much better if she were.”

 

A soft chuckle from Karen and more silence after that.  The firelight was growing dim.  Stella could feel it getting darker.

 

“Are you going to marry The Trout?” Hank asked.

 

“Probably not,” Karen said after a long pause.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I never liked being a wife very much.”

 

“Ouch, Karen.”

 

“We were never married.”

 

“Not on paper.”

 

“I wasn't referring to you anyway.”

 

“Still, I must be included there.”

 

“Some of the happiest years of my life were with you.”

 

“So happy you needed another man’s dick inside you.  Makes sense.”

 

“You didn't have to stick your dick in half the pussies of LA in retaliation.”

 

“Well that's not fair, some of them were from out of town.”

 

“We were over long before...are we going to have this same argument for the next forty years?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“I can't undo the past.  Are you going to marry Stella?”

 

“I don't know if she'd like being a wife any more than you did.”

 

“You're not a total fuck up.  It was my fault that…”

 

“No, you were right. We were over long before...I didn't want to accept it.”

 

The fire crackled and the wood crumbled, stirring the ashes.

 

“Just a pair of fucks ups,” Karen said.

 

The chair creaked and the light dimmed.  Stella felt Karen's hand on her arm and her hair on her cheek.  She heard the sound of a brief kiss and Hank's hold on her changed.  One arm stretched out.  Karen's bracelets jangled.  Then Karen's lips were on her cheek and it grew lighter again.

 

“Good night,” Karen said.  “Stay out as long as you'd like.  Fish’ll put the fire out later.”

 

Hank's arms tightened around Stella and he sighed into her hair.  The silence expanded around them until even the fire seemed subdued.  And then she was asleep.

 

Stella returned to consciousness when her equilibrium changed.  She felt her head too and then she was being lifted and the cool air sent gooseflesh up her arms.

 

“Shhh, just moving you to bed,” Hank said.

 

She opened her eyes slightly.  The fire had burned down to smoldering embers. There was a damp chill in the air.  She put her arms around Hank's neck and closed her eyes again.  

 

The sheets were cool when he laid her down and she murmured a soft ’thank you’ when he eased her shoes off her feet.  He plucked open the sash of her dress and opened it up.

 

“Been wanting to do that all day,” he said.

 

She smiled when his lips touched her belly and then he put his hand under her back to lift her slightly and pull the dress off her arms.  He unclasped her bra before laying her back down and she sighed in appreciation when he pulled his t-shirt off and put it on her.  It was warm from his body and smelled like him.  He knew she liked that.

 

Hank backed off the bed to shuck his jeans and then he was crawling in behind her.  He pulled her into the curve of his hips, but she was already asleep.

 

The sun rose early the next morning, bathing the room in pale yellow light.  Stella roused first, warm from Hank's body and the summer heat that was already baking the small space.  Hank grunted as she wiggled in his arms and rolled over to face him.  He ducked his head out of the strip of light that slashed across his face when she moved and buried himself in her neck.  

 

“Hank,” she whispered, sliding her fingers into his hair and tugging softly.

 

“Hmm?” he mumbled into her shoulder.

 

“I love you.”

 

He picked his head up and pried his eyes open to look down at her, squinting and blinking.  She traced the contours of his cheek and jaw with her fingertips.  He pursed his lips and his eyes darted over her face.  She cocked her head and ran her hand through his hair again.

 

“Waiting for the but,” he said.

 

“There is no but.”

 

He relaxed and laid his head down on the pillow beside hers.  She smoothed his brow with her thumb until he grabbed her hand and moved her palm down to his mouth to kiss it.

 

“Didn’t someone say something about testing out the guest house?” she asked.

 

He nodded at her with a serious expression.  “Someone _did_ say something about that.”  

 

“Unless you’d rather go back to sleep.”  She didn’t even finish speaking before he had her on her back, t-shirt pushed up past her hips and his mouth was already blazing a trail down her stomach and between her legs.

 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he mumbled around a mouthful of her flesh and panties.  “You know I love the smell of pussy in the morning.”

 

“Less talk, more action.”  She closed her eyes and stretched her back, extending her arms behind her.  Her fingers caught the brass poles of the headboard and she used them to pull herself up just a little and slide one leg out from under Hank’s arm and drape it over his shoulder.  He slipped her panties off and got to work.

 

If she didn’t already love him, he was worth keeping around simply for what he could do with his tongue.  She never needed to guide him, he was so attuned to the clenching of her thighs or the roll of her hips it was like a second language for him.  Fluent in cunnilingus.  He could put it on the special skills section of his resume.

 

“Mm, like that,” she moaned when his fingers joined the game.  Her grip tightened on the headboard.

 

Her neck arched and she pulled on the poles behind her as she came.  She was still pulsing when he slid inside her and thrust into her so deeply the bed knocked the wall.  She let go of the headboard and Hank took her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and pressing her arms wide above her and down into the bed.  He paused when sweat dripped from his forehead onto her neck and released one of her hands to press her knee up towards her shoulder.

 

“I got it,” she breathed, holding her leg in place.  “Just keep fucking me.”

 

“I don’t want to come without you.”

 

“Harder, then.  Touch me.”

 

“Fuck, Stella.”

 

His muscles began to shake from exertion and his face grew dark with heat.  He pulled his hips up as he thrust into her and she gasped.

 

“Right there,” she breathed.  “Rightthererightthererightthere…”

 

Her thighs shook with pleasure and Hank gave a hoarse growl as he bent his chest over her and pumped his hips mercilessly.  She lifted her head and licked the sweat off his chest as he held one thrust and then slowed to a stop.  He rolled off of her and onto his back, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

 

“Guest house gets a five star rating from me,” he panted, turning his head to look at Stella.  “What about you?”

 

“No criticism here.”

 

“I’ll be sure to fill out the comment card before we leave.”

 

At Hank’s insistence, they also tested out the shower, just to be sure everything was in working order, of course.  When they finally dressed and emerged from the guest house, Karen was laying out a breakfast on the patio.  Becca was hunched over the table with a bowl of cereal.  Hank kissed her head and then took the plates Karen was moving through the door out of her hands.

 

“Looks great,” Hank said.  There were eggs, sausage, fruit, toast and pitchers of juice laid out.

 

“Fish is finishing the mimosas,” Karen said.

 

“It smells wonderful,” Stella said.

 

“Sit,” Karen ordered.  “Eat.  I’ll be right back.”

 

Stella eased into a seat with her back to the pool, across from Becca.  Hank sat next to her and put his hand on her back, stroking her neck where it met the collar of her dress.

 

“Becca,” Hank said.  “I didn’t get a chance to ask, who’s your editor?”

 

“Her name is Michelle,” she answered.

 

“Did she give you many corrections?  Do you want me to…”

 

“They’re finished.  I get the proof next month to sign off on.”

 

Hank nodded and his hand fell from Stella’s back as he sat forward and took interest in the breakfast.  Stella had rarely seen him eat anything more than a bagel or a doughnut in the morning.  Often she had to remind him when she left in the mornings that he could not subsist on coffee alone.  She reached over and rubbed his leg.

 

Karen came back outside with silverware and Fish followed with the mimosas.  Breakfast was quieter than dinner, but Fish did volley a few more riddles at Stella, which she easily answered.  After breakfast, they drove into the town to wander through the boutiques and galleries.  Stella noticed that whatever Becca touched or looked at, either Hank or Karen would offer to purchase for her, but she shook her head, clearly undeterred by their attempts at bribery.  Though, what they were trying to bribe her for, was unclear.

 

Time flew, and before they knew it, it was getting late in the afternoon and they needed to get to the house to pack their things to catch the train back to the city.  Karen drove them to the station and seemed to Stella to have a bit of anxiety about letting them go.  Becca would also be returning on the same train and once Karen had hugged her good-bye and reluctantly let her go, she nervously twisted the bracelets on her wrist.

 

“Thank you for having us,” Stella told her.  “It was a lovely weekend.”

 

“Oh, of course.”  Karen hugged her tightly, which Stella attempted to return by putting her hands on Karen’s back.  “I hope you’ll come back.  When you’re stateside.”

 

“Should you come to London, you’re welcome to stay with us.”

 

“You’re sweet.”  Karen kissed Stella’s cheek and then backed away.  “Call me so I know you got in,” she said, squeezing Stella’s arm, but looking at Becca who had wandered away from the group to wait near the stairs up to the platform.  “Becca?”

 

Becca gave a wave of acknowledgment.

 

“We’ll call,” Stella said, quietly.

 

Hank gripped Karen at the hips and pulled her towards him to kiss her cheek.  She leaned away with a laugh and shoved at his shoulders.  

 

“I’m your favorite fuckup in the world,” he said.  “Aren’t I?”

 

“Get away before you miss your train,” she answered.

 

“Say it.”

 

“I’m your favorite fuckup in the world,” she parroted.

 

“Very clever.”

 

The rumble of the train approaching made them both turn and Karen pushed away from Hank to walk backwards toward her car.  “Call,” she said.

 

Hank grabbed their overnight bag from Stella and took her hand to move up to the platform.  Becca had already gone up and the signal bells clanged in the distance.  The train pulled in and they boarded.  Hank found a pair of forward and rear facing seats so they could sit together.  Becca flopped down by the window and Stella sat across from her.  Hank leaned close to Stella and stretched his leg out on the seat next to Becca.

 

Hank tried to make conversation, which Becca answered with shrugs or one or two words.  Stella could feel the frustration radiating off of him as he tried to break through the wall Becca had around herself.  It was something Stella had dealt with quite a bit in her line of work; kids who didn’t know how to express their anger, so they just didn’t speak.  Becca, she felt, was on the verge of exploding.

 

Stella rested her hand on Hank’s thigh and gave him a little squeeze.  He looked at her and she glanced at Becca and gave him another squeeze.  “I could use a drink,” she said, lifting her brow at him.

 

“Snack car is somewhere in the back,” he said.

 

“Would you mind?”

 

“Becca, you want anything?”

 

Becca shook her head.  Hank kissed Stella’s neck and then pushed himself out of the seats and headed down the aisle.  Stella waited until he changed cars and then she watched Becca stare out the window.

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get much of a chance to get to know each other this weekend,” Stella said.

 

Becca shrugged.

 

“You must be very pleased about your book.”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Becca shrugged again.

 

“My father passed away when I was fourteen.  He was in oil.”

 

Becca turned her eyes away from the window and looked at Stella.  “So?”

 

“We didn’t have very much in common.  I probably would’ve entertained the idea of settling in his company, had he lived.”

 

“I’m not a writer just because my father is.”

 

“Of course not.  It’s nice though, that you have something in common.”

 

“He admires authors like Bukowski and Thompson.”

 

“Who do you admire?”

 

“Virginia Woolf.”

 

“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.”

 

Becca looked away and worried her bottom lip with two fingers, the same way Hank did when he was deep in thought.  “Why are you a detective?” she asked.

 

“I was studying anthropology at university.  A classmate of mine was attacked one night and no one did very much about it.  It angered me.  I wanted to find a way to be a voice for the voiceless.”

 

“Was your friend okay?”

 

“She actually wasn’t a friend of mine.  I hardly knew her, in fact, just knew of her.  She left university.  I don’t know what became of her.”

 

“From that you were compelled?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Becca laid her head against the window and tapped her fingerprints onto it.  “He writes because people paid him a lot to do it.  I write because I see words and I want to put them into sentences that you can feel.”

 

“I look forward then to reading your book when it’s printed.”

 

Becca hesitated and then she pushed her hair back over her ears.  She plucked at the snap on her satchel and then opened it.  She pulled a manuscript out that was a few inches thick and bound with three silver fasteners.

 

“It’s a copy,” Becca said.  “The final copy that I sent to my editor on Friday.”

 

“You’ll allow me to read it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“May I share it with your father?”

 

Becca shrugged.

 

“If you’d rather I didn’t,” Stella said.  “I won’t.”

 

“You’d keep it from him?”

 

“It’s your manuscript.”

 

“You can let him read it.  There won’t be any more changes.  Unless something comes back in the proofs.”

 

Stella ran her hand over the top page.   _This is Not a Love Story by Rebecca Moody_ .  She flipped to the inscription.   _To, Father_.  She closed it and slipped it inside the overnight bag on the far end of their seats.

 

“We’re not leaving the city until Tuesday,” Stella said.  “I know your father would like it very much if you came to dinner with us, or lunch tomorrow.  You could stay at the loft, if you’d like.”

 

“I’ve got stuff to do.  But, maybe.”

 

“Becca, will you answer me honestly, if I ask something of you.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you feel, in any way, that I’ve taken your father away from you?”

 

Becca actually laughed.  She had a light, girlish giggle that sounded happier than it was.  There were dimples in her cheeks.  It made her look so very young.

 

“I’m sorry,” Becca said.  “It’s just that, I haven’t had much of a father since I was twelve.”

 

Ah, Stella thought.  Divorce, the root of all evil for some children.  Father was a title to Becca, not a role, the same as Daughter.  She assumed there was role reversal involved; the child forced by necessity to become the parent.  It would explain why both Karen and Hank tried to desperately to win her attention and affection.  And why Becca was so distrustful of them.

 

“One of the first things your father told me when we met was about how much he loved you.  How he thought you were the best thing that happened to him.  He also expressed a lot of regret about doing wrong by you.  He’s afraid that you hate him.  And I’m only supposing here, because I’ve only just met your mother, but I believe she may feel the same.”

 

“You sound like a therapist.”

 

“I’m not.  I did study criminal psychology, however.”  Stella glanced up as the door to the train car opened.  “Your father’s on his way back.  Our conversation will stay between us.  If you’d like it to.”

 

Becca nodded and Stella nodded back.  Hank slid back into the seat with two Cokes.

 

“The selection was shit back there,” Hank said.  “Becca, catch.”

 

Becca looked up as Hank tossed her a small box of animal crackers.  She wrinkled her nose.  “I haven’t had these since I was a kid,” she said.

 

“Yeah, but you used to love them.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They pulled into Grand Central a little after six in the evening.  The hall was lousy with tourists taking pictures of the staircases and ceiling.  They stood in the middle of the concourse before needing to part ways.  Becca needed to head west.  Stella and Hank needed to exit east.

 

“Um,” Becca said.  “Stella said you were free for dinner tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Hank answered.  “We can go to that Korean Barbeque place you like.”

 

“Okay.  I mean, I’m not sure yet.  I’ll let you know.”

 

“It would be great.”  He hugged Becca tightly and pressed his face to the top of her head.

 

Becca pulled away and hesitated, but hugged Stella as well.  Stella put a hand on the back of her head for a moment.  “You’re welcome to come to London at any time,” she whispered to her.  “Any time at all.”

 

“Okay,” Becca said.

 

“Do you need money for the cab?” Hank asked.

 

“I’m good.”

 

“Call your mother.”

 

“I will.”

 

Hank lifted his hand in a wave and Becca hoisted her bag up on her shoulder as she turned.  “Love you,” Hank said, softly, to Becca’s back.

 

Stella put a hand on Hank’s sternum and rubbed his chest.  “Come on,” she said.  “I have something for you when we get home.”

 

“Is it you, naked?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“Is it you, half-naked?”

 

“Nudity will not be involved, and it’s better than that, anyhow.”

 

“What can be better than nudity?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Hank took her hand as they headed towards the east exit.  “Was it a good weekend, Sherlock?”

 

“It was, Watson.”

 

The End

  



End file.
